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If nothing else, he should be thanked.
But the thoughts tumble together with hard, sharp edges of memory. The shards of terror embed themselves in my bloodstream, floating like inner tubes on a lazy river, waiting to be caught on rocks and long, thick logs made of dead trees that just haven’t rotted to pulp yet.
If memory is a mother, protecting us from the worst the world throws our way, then the present – the achingly slow now that rolls out second by second, never rushed by intent or desire – is a bully.
The present hurts me right now. It hurts to be here, to be aware, to be so close to Drew and yet so far away.
He has no idea how distant I really am.
And frankly, neither do I.
“Lindsay.” My name coming from his mouth brings me back to his bedroom, a place of sanctuary and passion that was destroyed by Stellan, John and Blaine. When I hear his voice, all I can see is Blaine on top of me, groping, his hand a final insult as I gave up on Drew.
I say nothing. I’m dying a thousand deaths inside. I slow my breath. Maybe if I slow down enough, I’ll just stop on my own, winding down like a toy that finally rests, tilted toward Mother Earth, inertia drawing it to a close.
“I know you’re here.”
No, Drew. You’re wrong.
I’m not.
The pain medication button is in my hand. I press it so hard the first joint of my thumb turns cold.
“I am so sorry,” he whispers. I can’t look at him. If I did, I know I would see tears.
I can’t look at him because that is what a whole person would do.
And I am just a shell.
“I am so proud of you,” he adds. The scrape of a chair against the tile floor tells me he’s here to stay. The sound is like nails on a chalkboard. I don’t react.
How can I?
I’m not here.
“Please open your eyes.”
I don’t.
“Lindsay. I know it hurts. I know you feel like you are dying inside, like you’re trapped in a big black hole with nowhere to grab. I know it. Grab onto me. I’m here. Grab onto me. Take whatever part of me you need and hold on to it, baby. Borrow a piece of me until you can find that part of yourself. Please. Don’t do it for me. Don’t do it for your parents. Do it for you.” He doesn’t touch me, but his hand goes on the bed, next to me. It’s shaking.
His voice is trembling.
My soul is an earthquake.
My heart is a tsunami.
And like any force of nature, there’s nothing anyone can do to stop this. It just is.
I fade out, the medicine doing its job, thank God. My eyelids crack open slightly. Out of the corner of my eye, I see his head bent down, broad shoulders in a suit jacket, the fabric stretched tight.
His hands are clasped on the bed next to me.
Like he’s praying.
Chapter 12
Drew
